I have a nasty case of The Mondays. Except it’s Tuesday. I should be renewed and invigorated after a lovely holiday weekend, right?
Instead, somehow, I’m anything but.
I’m having the worst hair day ever. My quest for an all-natural shampoo has lead me down a path of heavy greasy terribleness, and I’ve been resisting the urge to call my stylist for a severe chin-length chop all afternoon. Also, I may have fallen victim to the siren song of the home hair color aisle, and I may really regret it.
I’m feeling bloated and puffy, my to-do list is giving me the stink eye, I’ve wasted an hour on Hautelook and Makeup Alley debating whether or not to buy discounted Tan Towels to combat my pastiness, and my face is breaking out in ways I didn’t think possible for a woman nearing 30.
Oh, and it’s been a dreadfully slow day at the shop; an unwelcome reminder that summer is upon us and we have many days like this to look forward to in June and July.
It’s just a funky mcfunkerson kind of
Monday Tuesday. I feel gross, this day feels gross, and I could use a hug and a pint of Chunky Monkey.
An hour or so ago, I asked Chad to snap a few photos for the blog. I thought I could at least get it together long enough for a smiley outfit post. Womp-Womp. They all turned out awful (through no fault of my photographer) and seemed to magnify all of today’s nagging insecurities in high-def.
Just when I was ready to crawl in the walk-in cooler and pout the rest of the afternoon away, I read the bright chalky message staring me in the face from my Photoshop window. This morning — before I let all those dark clouds spoil my day — I scrawled those sunny punny words on our sign and rolled it out to the front of our shop. Maybe my subconscious knew I’d need the reminder later; “Hey dummy, stop and smell the flowers! It’s not that serious. Go take a Midol and a hot bath and things will look better tomorrow.”
It’s easy to let a nasty outlook take hold and block out any prospects of sunshine. Sometimes, you just have to take a beat, count your blessings, and send up a little prayer of gratitude and perspective. Then pour yourself a big ol’ glass of wine and fuhgettaboutit.
It’s time to lock up the shop and put this dreary day to bed. I think things will seem brighter from my couch. In sweatpants.
Note to self: swing by the drugstore for wine and Ben & Jerry’s.